


I Wouldn't Mind

by SpicyReyes



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alive Cole Anderson, Family Feels, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:20:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24885235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyReyes/pseuds/SpicyReyes
Summary: Cyberlife really put all that effort into programming a robot to mimic humanity, and got something that was terrified of a nine year old.Brilliant.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 13
Kudos: 152





	I Wouldn't Mind

**Author's Note:**

> In WDFFIL/specifically Possibility, Hank spends one chapter musing what his life would be like if Cole had lived. 
> 
> This is that AU
> 
> Aka: we all need some soft shit rn

As a general rule, bars were not a place for children. 

As far as this particular bar went, however, it was no worse a place than Hank was a person, and so taking Cole to watch the game and eat a burger at one of the tables was generally excused. 

Everyone universally agreed to ignore them and they both agreed to ignore everyone else, and all was good. 

Until Cole suddenly sat up straighter in his wheelchair, eyes going wide and bright, and he reached out to drop a hand on Hank’s forearm and give it a surprisingly strong squeeze. “Dad! It’s an android!”

“Androids aren't allowed in here, Cole,” Hank said, but it was hard to be  _ mistaken  _ regarding their distinctive clothing and bright LEDs, so he turned to look anyway. 

Sure enough, there was a goddamn android, standing in the doorway and looking around, the aforementioned LED spinning yellow to indicate him processing something. 

Apparently, it was scanning for  _ him,  _ because the second it caught sight of him it crossed the room to head right for him. 

“Lieutenant Anderson,” it called to him. “You were assigned a case this evening. A homicide. When you didn't show, I was sent to recover you.”

Hank stared at the machine, and then gestured to Cole. “I'm busy.”

“I see that,” the android replied. “But I'm afraid my instructions stipulate I have to accompany you.”

“You gotta go, dad,” Cole told him, with all the seriousness a nine year old could possibly have. “It’s your  _ job,  _ and there’s an  _ android!” _

Hank shook his head, looking up at the bot, which was watching him expectantly. 

“What am I supposed to do?” he asked. “I’m not taking my kid to a crime scene.”

“Aw,” Cole slumped in his wheelchair, clearly disappointed. “I wanted to see the android work!”

“It’s just coming to get me, Cole,” Hank told him. “It doesn’t actually do anything on the scene.”

“...Actually,” the android said, “I am a CyberLife prototype designed to assist investigators in cases involving androids. I will be on the scene, performing real-time data analysis and general assistance.” 

So much for that. 

It wasn’t that Hank didn’t like androids, necessarily, but more that Cole  _ loved  _ them, and his obsession with them meant that things like this would not easily be let go. 

His options were getting more and more limited. 

“Fine, okay, damn,” Hank muttered. “Let me pay Jimmy and we’ll go.” He pointed to Cole. “You are waiting with Ben, though, no arguments. I’m not letting you look at a  _ body.”  _

The pout he received in response was probably a good sign that his kid was fucking weird. 

  
  
  
  
  


“Do you need assistance in collapsing the wheelchair?” the android asked, at the car.

“Weirdly enough, no, I don’t need help doing shit I do every day,” Hank said. “You’re welcome to climb in there next to him, though. A functioning android? It’s fuckin’ Christmas to the kid.” 

“I...am not sure that should be advised,” the android said. “I was not designed for public or domestic interaction. I have only ever previously encountered a single child, and…”

The android trailed off. 

Hank snorted. “Grubby little fingers all in your ports, or something?” he guessed. “Whatever. Cole’ll just talk your ear off, and he can do that no matter which seat you get into.” 

“Is there a place Cole goes while you work, normally?” the android asked. “The preliminary information I received on the case suggested-...”

“He’s not going inside,” Hank said. “But I’m not going to drag any teenager out of their Friday night plans to watch my kid for half an hour while we poke around a house.” 

The android’s LED flashed to yellow, before quickly snapping back, giving Hank the impression of someone remembering to wipe the scowl off their face when annoyed by a coworker. 

“Lieutenant,” it said. “With respect-...”

“With  _ respect,  _ get in the goddamn car,” Hank said. “Otherwise, I’m leaving you here. Fuck your instructions.” 

The android’s face pinched, and its eyes darted to the side, toward where Cole resided in the back seat. 

There was a strain to his expression, and his LED returned to yellow and, this time, held there.

“You can’t be serious,” Hank sighed. “You’re scared of a kid?”

The android straightened a bit. “I-..!” He composed himself, looking apologetically to Hank. “I have only ever interacted with one child, of similar age, and she was in a high-stress situation that likely left her with heavy emotional trauma. I am... _ uncertain  _ if my social protocols are fit for-...”

“He’s not gonna bite,” Hank said. “And he’s not four. He’s nine. He’ll ask you some questions about how your fancy brain works, and you can answer them, or pretend you don’t know. Whatever. It’s like five minutes, and we’ll be there, right?”

“...Right,” the android said. Moving stiffly, clearly still unsold, he moved around, climbing into Hank’s passenger seat. 

Hank moved quickly to the driver’s side, getting in to hear the line of questioning had already started. 

“What kind of android are you?”

The android blinked. “I am a conceptual prototype-...”

“He’s nine,” Hank reminded him.

“...Ah. That’s to say, I’m an experimental model, meant to assist investigations involving androids.” 

“Like what?” Cole asked, leaning forward eagerly, straining against the straps on his seat. 

“Ay, kid, watch it,” Hank warned. “You’re gonna bruise up your shoulders like that.” 

“I have the pillows on!” Cole defended, poking one of the pads.

“Yeah, and they suck,” Hank reminded him. “Sit back already.”

Pouting, Cole slumped back in the chair, only to immediately recover his enthusiasm as he looked back to the android. 

“What’s your name?” he asked.

Hank felt a little bad for not noticing he hadn’t gotten it. 

“My name is Connor,” he said, in a rehearsed sort of way that suggested it was a specifically scripted answer, instead of just a normal introduction. 

“Hi, Connor,” Cole greeted. “I’m Cole!”

“Yes, I know,” Connor said. Hank shot him a look sideways, but Connor paid him no mind in return - though, it turned out to be unnecessary, as Hank was annoyed by the idea that Connor was dismissing Cole giving him information he’d already figured out, as Connor went on to explain, “I have advanced facial recognition software in my optical drive. That is - if I look at someone, and see enough of their face, I can run them against police records, and determine their identity and criminal records.”

“Cool!” Cole said, leaning forward again, eager to learn more. “So you can find a bad guy just by looking at him?” 

“In theory,” Connor said. “So far, the only time I’ve ever needed to use it in practice was to locate your father.”

“That what you did?” Hank asked. “I thought Fowler had just shoved my old ID at you at some point.”

“I have yet to interact with the head of the DPD, actually,” Connor said. “I operated under the command of a designated special ops unit, originally, and have since only met with the officers who responded to the call at the scene we are approaching.”

“Special ops?” Hank echoed, incredulous. “How’d you go from that to regular homicide?”

“My model was designed to investigate android crime,” Connor said. “Where there are androids, I am needed. The original deviant androids were only found in extreme situations, where the models reacted as destructively as possible. As time progresses, we’re seeing many mild cases coming to light, such as plain disappearances. As such, my unit was reassigned, sent to follow the bulk of the work. Not to mention, in more mild cases, I retain the possibility of detaining deviant models for study.” 

“What?” Hank asked, shooting him an incredulous glance, only to look quickly back at the road, unable to stop that instinctive race of his heart when he so much as blinked the view away. “You’re just gonna grab a bot and start taking it apart, is that it?”

“Not me, specifically,” Connor said. “My job is primarily to see the release of detained deviants to CyberLife, for our scientists.”

“But that doesn’t bother you?” Hank asked. “Knowing they’re just gonna take them apart- you’re fine with that?”

Connor blinked, a confusion on his face so innocent Hank was half convinced he had  _ two  _ kids in the car. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I dunno,” Hank said. “Because you are one? What if they took  _ you  _ apart like that?”

“My model was designed to be disassembled,” Connor said. “I am to investigate the source of android deviancy, neutralize it, and return to CyberLife for repurposing when I am not longer necessary.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Hank muttered, glancing up quickly into the rearview mirror, getting a brief glimpse of his son, who - blissfully - didn’t seem to understand what was being said, given the pinch between his brows. 

Connor, possibly following his gaze, turned partly in his seat, looking back at Cole. “Do you have other questions about my model?”

Cole shifted in his seat. “A girl in my class says her android can change her hair color whenever she wants,” he said. “Can you do that?”

“Ah, no,” Connor said. Perhaps responding to Cole’s crestfallen look, he added, “Not easily, anyway. Many domestic androids have aesthetic-...That is, household androids are designed to be able to make themselves look however their owners desire them to, down to details like hair color. My model needed only to be passable - I  _ can  _ modify my skin or hair, to some degree, but I have to entirely disable and re-form my skin layer to do so.” 

“You can turn your skin off?” Cole asked, sounding awed. “Is it just a picture?”

“No, it’s solid,” Connor said. Hesitating the briefest second, he reached a hand out, holding it toward Cole, who eagerly pinched at the palm of it, examining the skin he caught between his fingers. After a second, the skin shifted, and Cole gasped, watching as it peeled back to Connor’s wrist, leaving a white-and-blue robotic hand in the place of the previously human-like one. 

“That’s so cool,” Cole breathed. “Is this what you look like all over?”

“Without skin, yes,” Connor said. “However, if I’m not interfac-...If I don’t need to use any technology, there’s no need to remove my skin. My usual appearance-...This face is more integral-...”

Connor stopped again, face pinching again. Hank let out a soft laugh - the android clearly didn’t have experience wording things simply, probably too used to CyberLife’s uppity science types.

“This  _ is  _ his face,” Hank told Cole, rescuing him. “The white part is like...bones. Right?”

“...In a way,” Connor agreed, sounding like he was trying  _ not  _ to sound relieved. “The only reason that the material should ever be exposed is to allow signals to pass more easily. Minor information is easily transmitted, but larger data chunks can be disrupted by skin.” 

Hank glanced in the mirror again. Cole, for his part, looked like he was trying to follow, but - well, he was only nine, and the accident had made language a bit of a sticking point for him besides. 

“So if you wanna do a big download, you use the part underneath,” Hank translated. “And for little stuff, you can just do it like you are?”

“Essentially, yes,” Connor said. Then, abruptly, he added, “Left here, Lieutenant.”

Right. Crime scene. He turned, immediately catching sight of the lights in the distance. 

“Reports out the ass,” Hank muttered, eyeing the full streets. “Fucking phenomenal.”

Connor looked at Hank, then cast a slightly nervous glance behind them, to where Cole was, as though checking to see if he heard.

Hank snorted. Cole had heard him say worse, for certain - they had an understanding about cursing, because Hank had sworn practically nonstop for the month or so after the accident, and after that, it was hard to pretend ‘bad words’ weren’t sometimes necessary. 

Hank parked on the side of the road. “Stay here,” he said, glancing at Cole, then at Connor.

“Right,” Connor said, reaching for the door.

“Ay, hey, I just said stay,” Hank said, reaching over to stop him.

Connor blinked at him. “My instructions are to accompany you to the crime scene, Lieutenant.” 

Hank huffed, glancing back at Cole, then back to Connor. 

“....Fuck, fine,” he sighed. “Cole, hold on a sec, I’m gonna send Ben out to you, okay?”

“Okay!” Cole said, perfectly used to this on the few occasions he’d been present when Hank was called in. 

“Okay,” Hank echoed. “Connor, you coming?”

“Coming, Lieutenant,” Connor confirmed, and they both exited the car, making their way to the house. 

“Hank!” Ben greeted. “We didn’t think you were gonna show. Game night’s usually booked for you.”

“Yeah, that was the plan,” Hank said. “But apparently even we’ve got fucking androids now.” He gestured to Connor. “Cole’s in the car. Could you-...?”

“Yeah, I’ve got him,” Ben said. “Don’t wanna head back in there, anyway. Take a deep breath before you go in - it’s bad.”

“Oh, great,” Hank muttered, heading for the house.

Behind him, Connor hesitated a half a second, glancing back toward the car, and the silhouette of a child in the backseat. 

He didn’t have much experience in opinions...but he thought he rather liked the boy. 

  
  



End file.
